


When butterflies die

by MaiKeehl



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pain, Short One Shot, it's all pain, long descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5089766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiKeehl/pseuds/MaiKeehl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The air shutters and the wind laps and the blood burns as it falls down his face, mixing with the salty tears that Haise didn't even realise were falling until the man before him collapsed.</p><p>(AKA, a short story I did to portray my denial for the new chapters, a gift to the awesome Sadgourmet, and practice of my descriptions to portray emotions. Unbetad sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When butterflies die

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever TG fanfic, and it's mostly descriptive drabble with a lot of angst. IM SO SORRY  
> I appreciate anyone who reads this though!

The air is stagnant and heavy as the leadened wind rips past his face, ruffling the coarse hair on his head. Floor seems unsteady beneath aching and shaky feet, and only quick taps of laboured breath can be heard through the overwhelming thud of a heartbeat.  
Blood runs down his face, his arm, dripping rhythmically against the broken floor, burning with the heat of a thousand confused, empty and forgotten emotions. Leaving dark, crude marks on his mind, and mixing like a disgusting river with the salty sweat that sticks to his brow. 

Wind lashes against him, with nothing on that desolate roof to shield his form from the world that screams to **stop.** Screams, cries, spits. His head rings in a flashing daze, a feint image of a small boy crying, kicking, bashing on the walls that Haise fights to keep up.  
His lip curls in a sarcastic snarl, yet he cannot for the life of him figure out why, even with the lingering feeling of hopeless irony and deja vu easing down his throat, his lungs, suffocating him with a heavy, mocking grip.  
**Stop.**

Just in front lays a man, shaking with what could be tears or laughter, or maybe even both. Small fragments of the once stylish shirt lay fluttering around him, glowing in the dense moonlight with a ominous shine that reflects the beautiful blue of the man's hair. Beautiful, an ironic word, mocking, laughing at their situation. Yet, without a doubt, ringing so clearly in Haise's mind. He can almost remember, touches of obstinate goals and times filled with bitter-sweet memories, but no matter how close he is to grasping at them, he can never catch the memories he wants. Or thinks he wants.

Blood seeps across the stony floor, yet the man before him stirs, mumbling, tear tracks feint on the beautiful face that hardens in pain and ambition. Don't lose, keep fighting. _"Mister Sasaki"_ The figure twitches, and the wind stirs once more. His pride is shattered, Haise realises, with a terrified wince, clutching his abdomen with his remaining arm, remembering the pain of this tortured man kicking him.  
It hurt, physically, but the memories hurt more. They buzzed and clambered, begging to be remembered. Better times. Haise, did not know this man, but Kaneki Ken did. Kaneki Ken remembered, cared, fought Haise's mind for just a _chance_ to talk, to stop him, to help this man. Tsukiyama. The ghoul. The friend. The _enemy._

The air shutters around them, breaking and howling, fluttering against the ghouls. That's who he was, a ghoul, was...still is.  
_"I don't know anything about you"_

Blood burns as it rolls down his face in thick rivers, mixing bitterly with the salty tears that Haise didn't even realise was falling down his face.


End file.
